The Slavery of an Addict
by DoceoPercepto
Summary: [A glimpse into Pitch's thoughts about fear.] The former Nightmare King finds himself addicted to a certain winter spirit's fear, and Jack Frost is not as afraid as he should be.
1. Chapter 1

A human eats and a human drinks. A human sleeps and a human dreams.

To cease any of these activities would be to die. _Oh, humans_. How pure, unblemished and innocent, to have their sustenance be mere food and water, mere rest and imagination.

Pitch envied them the simplicity of their victuals. He envied also the Guardians, for the simplicity of their needs. Wonder, memory, hope, dreams… fun.

How liberating it must be, to find life and pleasure in things that brought life and pleasure to others. They could never realize just how unjust it was, to be cursed to feed purely on fear. Even if he one day stood up and resolved to be so-called 'good' – Pitch scoffed at the thought – he could not thrive in such a state. To be good would be to starve himself. To be good would be to suffer and crave and need and refrain and _resist_.

Because fear… oh, fear was exquisite. Nothing could ever compare to fear. It came in different flavors, some sharp and sudden like spikes of freezing ice; some were slower, building, sordid and heavy like an injected drug sluggishly pumping through his veins. Some were laced with dread, others with horror, even others with that delectable tang of helplessness. Some required only the most minimal of efforts on his part…. But then, some required meticulous attention to reap… Pitch tried to remain altogether indifferent towards what sort of fear he took, but if he were honest with himself, he would admit that he preferred the sort of fear which carefully stewed for endless days and endless nights. He preferred… playing with his food, you could say. Tease with little licks of nightmares, and slowly slowly ohsoslowly build the terror until they collapsed in his hands and yielded to him completely.

Pitch sucked in a delicate breath and released it just as silently. He needed to calm down, relax, gather his thoughts together. Justify this to himself.

You see… fear differed between different humans as well. Pitch smirked. If _he_ even counted as _human._ Which he didn't, of course he didn't, but that didn't change anything.

The act of bringing terror was sometimes routine; the satisfaction he claimed by doing so certainly filling, but not special, not… intimate. He liked to think himself above petty human-like weaknesses such as obsessions, but nonetheless, he found himself here. Here, where he should not be, at the very lake where he should never have gone again.

Of all the people to fix on… it had to be him. The very person as ungraspable as the wind, as free as the skies. Pitch should have kept away: Jack wasn't like the other feeble humans he'd fixed on before. These other people, he could invade their nightmares until he utterly broke them, and then ended them forever. Jack Frost? He couldn't do that to Jack Frost – without fail, the other Guardians would be after him, and he had not the strength to take _all_ of them yet.

But he'd never had to resist like this before.

Hissing from behind his clenched teeth, Pitch dragged his nails down the trunk of a tree, ignoring the bite of their splintering. How much easier it would be if his hunger didn't rely on fear. The pitiful Guardians, how _lucky_ they were.

But no; no, Pitch had no such luck. He was starving and nothing else tasted quite right. Nothing but the fear from this one person… And as soon as Pitch had perceived Frost sleeping _abouttime-awholeweekandnorest-damnwinterspirit_ he'd tracked him to this lake and now…. Now he held back.

Beautiful _disgusting_ golden dream-sand spiraled over Jack's closed eyes, and a small smile had lit upon his face. Pitch sneered. So oblivious. Sleep made everyone so vulnerable.

It would be so _easy_ to transform that dream into a nightmare. _Everyone has betrayed you, Jack; are you even surprised?… oh, poor poor Jack, how tragic – it looks like even Jamie doesn't believe in you any more. Fitting, though, isn't it? You were never worth believing in anyway._

But no. He couldn't interfere, because he couldn't risk getting the Guardians involved. He couldn't let them know that he was now armed with new tricks, new knowledge. He definitely couldn't let them know his power was mounting – it was still much too early.

But maybe… maybe just a taste. Something small enough that Jack wouldn't even suspect him. They still thought he was victim to his own Nightmares, after all. Surely it couldn't hurt?

With measured steps, Pitch circled in closer, the shadows stretching out behind his heels.

His spidery hands extended and swirled amongst the dream-sand, but not changing it, not yet. So much temptation…

_You don't want the Guardians involved. He'll know, you know he'll know it's you, he doesn't have nightmares, the _Sandman_ protects him, and if he becomes fearful in a dream, he will know it's you. He will tell the Guardians._

Pitch's half-lidded suddenly snapped open._ Or will he?_

Jack, for all his devotion to fun and games, had never just spilt all his secrets to someone. He wasn't a little boy that tattled to his parents; he was anything but! Three hundred years of loneliness inevitably developed independence and a reluctance to rely on others; Pitch personally could testify to that. A fragile, budding friendship with a few Guardians couldn't banish such a mindset so easily!

No, Jack wouldn't tell, not at first at least. He'd try to figure things out on his own, he'd try to fix it himself, he'd…

A twisted smile curved at Pitch's lips. His eyes fluttered shut. In that case…

No harm for a single taste.

He chuckled. Perhaps he should not envy the humans, or the Guardians. They never got to feel this pleasure now, did they? How shallow were their emotions: all but fear, that is. How limited they were, how fallible. Victims of their own weak feelings.

For Pitch, things could truly become very simple. Fear, and fear above all things, ruled.

Licking his incisors, Pitch entered the dreams of Jack Frost.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Okay, okay, I really wasn't planning on continuing this. But when I'm stuck on my other stories, all my SoA ideas start sounding really fun to write. So. Oh! This is not going to be Pitch/Jack, contrary to what this chapter might imply.

* * *

At first he merely observed. The naiveté of it could have made him laugh.

Burghess, in the throes of a mild snowstorm, wherein most children hid indoors until the worst of it passed; _you'll freeze!_ their parents scolded them. Most children contented themselves with sighing over their windowpanes and watching the snow pass them by.

Not Jamie Bennett. Jamie Bennett was _not_ going to miss Jack Frost, never! Jack Frost was all snow balls and fun times; plus, he'd never let Jamie or his friends freeze. Giggling excitedly, Jamie tugged on his winter gear and darted out the back door before his parents could spy him. He'd be back before no time, anyway.

Jack Frost, perched on the eaves of Jamie's house, grinned as he watched Jamie bounding away into the woods. He reared his fist back, took careful aim, and then – then –

WHAM, the snowball barreled into Jamie's caramel hair and sent him face-planting into the snow. Jack clutched his chest and roared with laughter,

"Haha, I got you that time, Jamie! You didn't even see it co-"

SPLAT; Jack got a face full of snowball. Still chuckling so hard that it almost hurt, Jack staggered backwards. His foot nicked the corner of the roof; with a startled yelp, he pin-wheeled his arms before plunging through the air straight into a snowdrift.

"Jack? Jack, are you okay?" Jamie came running back and leaned over the sprawled, half-buried form. "Jack! I'm sorry, I-"

A pale hand shot out of the snow and lobbed yet another snowball to whack into Jamie's forehead.

"It takes more than that to win a snowball fight against Jack Frost!" the winter spirit declared. Wind lifted him up out of the snow bank and allowed him to hover a few inches above the ground. He ruffled Jamie's hair affectionately. "It's great to see you, Jamie."

Jamie stepped away, frowning. "That wasn't funny, Jack."

"Aw, come on. You have to admit it was a little funny. Anyway, you're the one who knocked me off the roof," Jack winked.

Jamie shook his head. "I'm cold."

"Can't help you much there, buddy. But you'll warm right up if you get your friends and we build snowforts!"

"No…" Jamie stepped away, and then turned back. "I think I'm going to go inside now."

Jack's feet struck the ground and hurried after Jamie, grasping his shoulder lightly. "Hey, whoa whoa whoa – but what about all this snow? C'mon Jamie, I basically did all this for you. I thought we could hang out today!"

Jamie shrugged off his hand. "I don't really want to play anymore. It's not as fun as it used to be anyway."

Jack let out a strangled laugh that sounded more like a cough. "What are you talking about? I'm just as fun as always! I haven't changed at all – literally! Spirits don't change that much!"

Jamie opened the door to his house and gazed sullenly back at Jack. "I dunno. You just do the same thing over and over again. I'm tired of frost and snow. I'm tired of you."

The door slammed.

Jack was left, gasping and clutching at his chest. No, there was no way this could be happening, this didn't just _happen_.

"Curious," purred an altogether too-familiar voice. "Your greatest fear has changed, Frost."

Jack whirled around and narrowed his eyes. "_Pitch_. That's it, isn't it? I'm dreaming, because Jamie would _never_ say that."

From the shadows of the forest the shape of a man materialized, but one very strange and very twisted, his eyes silvery and skin grey, his form cloaked in the very same darkness that must fester in his heart. "Hello, Jack."

"What are you doing in my dream?" the winter spirit scowled.

"Would you rather me go elsewhere?" Pitch gestured towards the shadows, a sardonic grin on his lips. "If you so wish… I could visit Jamie, or the other children."

"Don't you dare!" Jack slashed the staff before his eyes, expecting lethal ice shards to burst forth and tear asunder Pitch's maliciously pleased expression.

Nothing happened. Jack blinked. "Um." He swung the staff again, and yet again not even a single snowflake appeared.

Pitch threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, silly Jack. Do you honestly think I'd give you the power to hurt me in a nightmare of my own creation?"

"Fine." Jack relaxed his stance. "You've got me. Now are you going to tell me why you're here? Because you don't scare me, Pitch. And nothing you do can scare me."

"So little faith," sighed Pitch.

"It's not about faith. It's about the fact we kicked your butt last year, and I know you're virtually powerless yourself. Plus, the Guardians will always protect the children. And-" with a smirk- "the children will always protect us, when we need it." Jack crossed his arms, certain he'd made his point.

Now this, this was frustrating Pitch. Clearly so much had changed in a single year, so much that he had not anticipated. How could Jack be so immune to his fears? With a start, Pitch realized that Jack responded now with reason and logic, not emotion and spitfire. He responded more like an adult, less like a child. And it was to children that Pitch had so long tailored his nightmares.

Perhaps this was the reason for Frost's resilience.

Of course, this small nightmare was intended to be nothing terror-inspiring, only a minor spring of fear. But even so, the taste had been thoroughly unsatisfying and bitter in its aftermath, due to Frost's infuriating confidence.

With a deep breath, Pitch deliberately cooled his frustration. His anger and fury could inspire terror only in those already weak-hearted. His practical, careful nature, however… the nature that allowed him to wait and plan for hundreds of years before ever showing himself… that deserved fear from any wise man.

This wasn't some cheap fix for his cravings anymore. Oh, no. If Frost were to make this a challenge, then Pitch would find in himself the patience and steadiness necessary to win.

Did not the winter spirit love games?

A languid grin spread across the Nightmare King's face. "The children will always protect you…" he echoed softly.

Jack's eyes narrowed.

"And yet," continued Pitch, circling around Jack, "time does not stop for them. Ah, yes – time wears on adults, it makes them wrinkled and grey and sad… but does it not most of all wear on children? Time is, you could say, more powerful than I – for time does what I cannot always do. Time tears away the hopes, dreams, and beliefs of children... inevitably, one by one, until…"

Pitch paused in front of Jack, his eyes reverential and pleased. "Until, at last, every snowball fight, every whimsical childhood dream, every fantasy of flying, is barely even a memory. They have greater things to concern themselves with… work, school, missing the bus, watching the latest television show…" Pitch smirked. "Not even your Jamie will be immune to this fate."

"Stop it!"

For most of his speech, Pitch had felt the touch of apprehension, of disturbed quietness. At the final words, something icy and tense clenched beneath his ribs. _Fear_. Jack Frost's fear. Truths, indeed, were more terrifying than lies. Jack feared that Jamie would get bored of him, yes, but it wasn't a likely fear at all. It wasn't a fear he could look at and call 'fact.' But the idea of Jaime losing his beliefs and hopes and dreams... of losing his belief in Jack... that was an unchangeable end. That was undeniable.

Around them the world darkened; snow decayed into black earth, and swaying tendrils of shadow overtook the sun and sky. Pitch circled in tighter. His thrill loosed his tongue and mindlessly he continued speaking,

"Your greatest flaw, Jack Frost, is your closeness to the human world. North, Bunny, Tooth, the Sandman… they have no friends in the human world. But you…. You have Jamie. Your power rests on one whose very lifespan is a fraction of yours – forget how swiftly his childhood will go by.

"All while you gaze on, untouched by time. Forever remaining young and powerful and perfect."

And afraid. Pitch leaned in and inhaled deeply. That cold pleasure raked outward from his chest; how curious and yet fitting that the winter spirit's very fear could feel _cold_. Not brittle or distant, but intimately cold, like a pleasant numbness in his chest and lungs. Strange, but addicting; he knew no child that had a fear comparable to this.

How could he settle with a mere taste, as he'd intended? How could he begin to terrorize the spirit and then merely stop?

But just as he agreed with himself to intensify the nightmare, Jack Frost skittered away, pupils blown wide, teeth clenched, knuckles white over his staff.

"Get away from me. Now."

And Pitch recalled why he could not press for more. Gathering himself, he chuckled.

"As you so wish…."

The dream ended; by shadow Pitch returned to his lair and brooded. He'd gotten too caught up in the moment. The best fears, after all, were nurtured and carefully fostered. The best fears were the ones he drew out over days, months, years….

He could never get the fullest satisfaction from a single nightmare - no, not even two, or three. Satiation (however brief) meant continuous stimulation of terror. It meant lurking, stalking, one single person, and provoking again and again their fear until it was just right; like chiseling at a marble block until the perfect shape emerged.

Sadly, Pitch tended to break the things he played with. No one could satiate him without them shortly afterward shattering. Maybe... a winter spirit would be different.

_Don't you like games, Jack Frost?_


	3. Chapter 3

"You've been getting in my dreams."

Jack Frost. How hideously persistent.

The short answer was, of course, yes – but the winter spirit hadn't exactly phrased it as a question. Naturally, Pitch didn't feel obliged to answer.

Of course he'd been infiltrating Frost's dreams. That taste had been nothing short of paradise; how could he sample such a thing and then never try it again? So against his better judgment… well, he went again. And again. He tried to put as much time in between as possible: a few months, the first time. The fact Jack Frost slept infrequently made his plight worse, but at least prevented him from visiting every night as he desired.

Nonetheless, the irritating winter spirit had evidently been disturbed enough to track Pitch after one of these dream escapades. In the frozen wastes of a Russian countryside, he'd caught up to the dethroned nightmare king.

Sighing, Pitch flitted into shadow and reappeared a mile or so north.

The wind swiftly bore Frost in pursuit. Regrettably, it deposited him directly in front of Pitch. Jack leaned on his staff and glared – hostile, definitely, but not poised to fight. This merited well.

"If it isn't my favorite winter spirit," Pitch said with feigned surprise.

"Trust me, I'm only here to set some rules."

"Rules? From the spirit of fun?"

"You stay out of my dreams."

Pitch shrugged lightly and brushed past Jack Frost. Too close, perhaps: he scented the fresh snap of the first winter freeze, the stark sharpness of pine against snow…. The barren blackness of night against glacial lands. It was not so much a physical scent – certainly not one humans could perceive. It was more like the scent of a soul, when it wasn't suitably drenched in fear.

Something tugged hard in Pitch's chest; abruptly, suddenly, he _needed_ to stain that soul. He needed to feel it quivering in his hands - how tender it would be, how beautifully delicate with its alabaster surface just waiting to be carved with jagged fear, with the harsh ferocity of his need. A half step closer; Jack's fears leapt to the front of his mind; he opened his mouth –

Then snapped it shut again. Pitch gagged and swerved away from Jack to hide his face from sight. He dug his teeth into his lower lip. It had barely been an hour, and already he was craving fear again? That was much, much too quick. But - Pitch restrained a bitter laugh – whenever was he truly comfortable with his dependency upon fear?

"Are you listening?" Jack demanded at Pitch's back.

Best to pretend he was all right. Licking his bleeding lip, he forced out as smoothly as possible; "would you rather I target children again?"

"Don't give me that."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You still give children nightmares, Pitch. So don't try to convince me you're not."

Another nonchalant shrug. "Caught red-handed, I see." Pitch blessed his ability to appear calm when everything in his head was falling apart. He kept his back to the winter spirit. Regretfully, his sense of others' souls, of their fears, was not at all tied to his vision. He may not see the spirit at the moment… but he could sense him – and that was much, much worse.

Pitch eyed the shadows. Technically, nothing kept him here. He could teleport back to his lair, and slink amongst its shadows while he regained his control.

But, cruel were the machinations of his hunger. He couldn't leave. Not yet. Perhaps he'd get a taste? Pitch closed his eyes heavily. How pitiful he'd become.

He realized too late that Jack had said something. "Mm? You must speak louder, Frost. You mumble terribly."

"What is this about? You've never given any of the other Guardians nightmares."

Pitch whirled around. "How do you know that?"

Frost's eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. "Whoa, whoa. It was a guess."

"Of course." Pitch straightened his robe. "Of course."

"Are you… I can't believe I'm asking this, but are you okay?"

"You severed my power. You thwarted my only measly desire – to be believed in – and you turned my own Night Mares against me. How dare you ask me a question like that?" Recollecting all those things made it easier to embrace hate and push aside _need_.

"You deserved all that, Pitch, after what you did. But… this looks like something else."

Compassion. From him? Pitch rolled his eyes and sneered. "Begone, Frost. I will not be humiliated further by you."

"I'm not leaving."

Pitch sighed. Yet again his traitorous heart wanted to reach out and seek help. He was weak, he knew he was weak; now more than ever. But surely he wasn't so weak as to ask help from his enemies? No, no – he wouldn't sink that low. He bared his soul enough that night in Antarctica, and was consequently punished for it.

_"… They'll believe in both of us."_

_"No, they'll fear both of us. And that's not what I want."_

Asking for help was out of the question. But inquiring… Pitch found himself speaking, "Your center, Jack. It's fun. Does it not fuel you? Is it not the thing upon which you depend? Even before you knew what it was, your behavior made it obvious. Everyone knew before you."

"So…?" Jack said, thrown off by the sudden line of thought.

"What is my center?" Pitch uttered daringly.

"Fear." No hesitation, no delay.

So Frost knew as well. But he had never thought about it, had he? "Correct," Pitch drawled. "It is my fuel. The thing upon which I depend. But if my behavior reflects that… I am harshly punished for it. I have no Guardians on which to rely. I am unseen by children. Why? Because my center is fear. Tell me, Jack; how easily can you change your center?"

By this time, the gist of the conversation was dawning on Jack. "I can't…" he said slowly. "I wouldn't want to, even if I could. It's me."

"Curious, how that is. The Man in the Moon put us all here. Most of us he granted such perfect centers, of fun and hope. But one, one he gave the center of fear. Generous, isn't he?"

"But it wasn't the Man in the Moon's decision," Jack realized. "Yeah, he put us here. But – well, I think fun was my center, even before I was a spirit. Now it's just an even bigger part of me."

"Hmm."

"So – before you were a spirit, you must have had already… well." Jack frowned. "You may not have been a very good person."

"Thank you," Pitch said coldly.

"Well, is it true?"

"How would I know?" snapped Pitch, turning away.

"Wait…" Jack stepped closer. Pitch tried to ignore the revisiting hunger that clawed at his chest. "You mean, you don't remember?"

"It makes no difference."

"Not even one small memory?"

"I am who I am. Unlike you, my confidence is not dependent upon my past."

"Pitch… it could be really importa-"

"I recall telling you to leave, Frost."

"Pitch!" Jack suddenly cried out. "Back at Burghess, the Tooth Fairy – she took one of your teeth, she – " He grabbed Pitch's arm in sudden joyful revelation, "-if we could find that too-"

Contact sealed the connection. If Pitch could sense fears through air, his ability was effectively doubled by physical contact.

His hand snapped out and clenched Jack's throat. Their eyes met: Pitch poured in terror in troves; all his reduced power he amassed to flow into Jack's soul, through his touch, through his eyes. In a second flat the winter spirit was trembling – Pitch briefly regretted that he could feel no panicking pulse beneath his tightening fingers, and then dismissed the thought out of sheer ecstasy. Beautiful beautiful fear snaked up Pitch's arms, oozed into his own deadblack bloodstream. The opium filled his lungs to their brim and sent his nerves afire with pleasure-

Then something cracked against his skull. White flashed across his vision. He struck the snow and curled into himself, cringing. Evidently, his power was not great enough to hold a victim in place. Jack had made his opinion about the whole thing clear by slamming his staff against Pitch's head.

Hissing out a breath, Pitch cursed himself for his own foolishness. That little trick of inspiring fear in a waking victim… it was something that required far too much energy to have tried. Once, twice, he attempted to stand, and both times collapsed back to the snow. He growled lowly. This would not have happened if were not so depleted on power! If he wasn't so infuriatingly weak.

Burning in humiliation, he resigned himself to lay in the snow, helpless and pitiful and loathsome.

Frost hadn't left yet. After that awful show, why did he linger? Let him get away from here, and forget he had ever seen Pitch like this. In that moment, the former Nightmare King hated Jack more than ever.

Then, Jack spoke. Softly. Pitch hated that too – he was supposed to be afraid! "I'll try to get that tooth from Toothiana. Maybe you aren't all fear."

The wind hurled Jack up in a flurry of snow, and off he went. Pitch swore and let the shadows take him to his lair.

* * *

I think the next chapter will be from Jack's PoV. Which is... weird, cuz I was gonna stick with Pitch's. Ah well!


	4. Chapter 4

Writing for Jack is a lot harder than writing for Pitch. But I kinda enjoyed it, so I think there will be another Jack PoV chapter eventually. So… I did just update this, but I finished this chapter awful quick and couldn't help posting it now instead of waiting a few days to better space out the updates x] It's shorter than the other chapters, anyhow. /whyisthisnotworking

* * *

Jack Frost was generally considered altruistic. Helpful, kind, overall determined to make right in the world. Oh sure, he did have his whole mischievous streak. There wasn't any fun in life without a bit of mischief! But the point was, he tried to keep his mischief on the side of 'fun' and not 'mean.' He wouldn't do anything he considered _too_ bad or wrong.

Flying to Toothiana's palace to help the man that had tried to plague the world with terror and nightmares… weeelll, that didn't fall under his usual categories of 'fun' or 'good.' But to be fair, Jack wasn't helping him to do anything evil. In fact, he could be helping him to do more good. Maybe if Pitch finally learned his past, he could become a better person. Maybe it was the crucial link in his character, the thing that finally explained who he could be, not just who he was.

_"I'm scared, Jack."_

_"I know, I know…. But you're gonna be alright. You're not gonna fall in. We're gonna have a little fun instead."_

North and Bunny (and maybe Sandy and Toothiana too) might think Pitch was hopeless, but Jack knew there had to be something genuine in him. Like that time in Antarctica. His offer had been all sides messed up, but his motivation to actually make the offer hadn't seemed evil. It seemed… human, for lack of a better word. Pitch was lonely. And he'd seen a bit of himself in Jack. Both of them had known what it felt like

_To not be believed in. To long for a family. _

Well, now Jack was believed in. Now he had something like a family, however haphazard the Guardians were. And Pitch, Pitch had neither. Maybe he didn't deserve either. But maybe he should at least have a second chance.

Even with the weight of these thoughts, and the lurking remnants of his last nightmare, Jack felt a laugh bubbling up. There was nothing more exhilarating than letting the wind pitch him this way and that at breakneck speeds. Below him flew past huge lakes and rivers and forests, and then soon enough, quiet towns huddled in their warm-lighted homes, and then sprawling cities blaring with sound and activity.

Jack let himself flip and turn in the air – the wind always seemed a bit more turbulent when it knew he needed cheering up. To some, this might seem like a really obnoxious and irritating way to cheer someone up. To Jack, it was perfect.

Up in the air, he felt weightless, free from worries and burdens. It was darn near impossible to be upset up here.

Eventually, night was eaten away by day, and he soared on calmer winds towards the glittering masterpiece that was Toothiana's palace. Out from the bustling palace shot a teeny blur of bright feathers, and sure enough, within seconds, Baby Tooth was flitting around Jack's head and squeaking with delight.

"Hey Baby Tooth!" he greeted, and cupped the little fairy in his hands. She chattered excitedly at him and fluffed her wings. "I missed you, little one."

She smiled up at him in her own way, and then took her place on his shoulder while he approached the center of the Palace, where Toothiana was handling business as usual. As soon as she noticed him, her eyes lit right up.

"Oh Jack, it's so good to see you again," she said warmly, "how are your teeth? Still white as freshly fallen snow?" Before he could even answer, she turned promptly to the fairies, "Montpelier, sector 4, twelve premolars, eighteen bicuspids, four incisors; Boston, sector 8, twenty-four molars, two bicuspids, eight incisors – wait! Nine incisors!" She turned back to the winter spirit. "I'm sorry, Jack. It's-"

"No, no," he waved his hands to calm her down. "No crazy snowfights today. I just wanted to ask you something."

"St. Louis, sector two, nineteen molars-"

Jack let her finish, and then pressed on, "I was wondering if I could take just one tooth drawer. I'd bring it right back."

"Your tooth drawer?"

"Someone else's."

Toothiana looked bemused. "Is Jamie okay? One of my fairies can send a drawer right over-"

"Well, actually, heh," Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "I was wondering if I could take Pitch's."

"_Pitch Black_?"

"It's a little unexpected, huh?"

"Of all people…" Tooth trailed off, shaking her head.

"We defeated him. He isn't gonna come back any time soon."

"Why him?"

Jack swiped his hand through his hair. Great question, actually. "It's just, an idea I had. To show him his memories. He doesn't remember them."

Tooth's eyes widened as she understood. A few teeny fairies fluttered around her; she quickly rattled off several more cities and teeth to them. She added an extra order to one of the fairies, who fluttered off and returned carrying a single tooth drawer. Toothiana solemnly took the drawer. When she turned back to Jack, her expression was harried and concerned. She did not hand over the tooth drawer.

"You're very kind, Jack. But I can't be certain these memories will contain something Pitch doesn't already know, even if he does agree to see them. His tooth was knocked out only after he was already a spirit for a very long time."

"Can I take a drawer from when Pitch was human?"

Toothiana looked strained. "Jack, this is the only tooth we have from him. He was a spirit before we were."

Jack raised his eyebrows. Come to think of it, he did remember Pitch explaining that before, when he went on his whole crazy rant about the glory of the Dark Ages. Still, it was weird to think of a time before the Tooth Fairy and North and the other Guardians. Compared to them, Jack was young. "I'll just have to try it," Jack said determinedly.

Tooth smiled. "If anyone can show that man a bit of light, it'd be you." She handed over the tooth drawer. In response, Baby Tooth burrowed deeper into Jack's hoodie and made a plaintive chirp.

Jack flipped the drawer to see the face depicted on the side – he recalled that his own had reflected his human face. To his great disappointment, there was no recognizable difference between the visage on the tooth drawer and Pitch's own appearance. What if this didn't even work?

"Jack?"

"Thanks, Tooth." Jack swung his staff up on his right shoulder and gave her a winning grin. He didn't want her to worry any more than necessary, and he was doubly relieved that his recent onslaught of nightmares didn't yet show in his face.

"Please be careful, Jack."

"Hey, I'll be fine. I'm Jack Frost!"

"Take Baby Tooth with you."

"She'll come along." Jack affectionately petted the tiny fairy's head.

The Tooth Fairy didn't look convinced about his safety, but Jack knew it was just her motherly worry. She recited more information to her fairies, and Jack let the wind whip him away. He'd be back before she knew it. All he had to do was show Pitch these memories, and then he could bring the tooth drawer right back.

Quick as a bunny.


	5. Chapter 5

Frost was irksomely loud.

Pitch could hear him stumbling around all over the lair, calling out his name, running into walls, tripping in the dark… How clumsy for a spirit.

But it was entertaining, and bought him time to soothe an uneasiness he regretted feeling. After another five minutes, though, Jack was getting frustrated and Pitch decided it might be better to cut that game short.

"You convinced her to give up my memories, then," the former Nightmare King cooed, appearing behind the winter spirit.

"Nhg!" Jack jumped and spun around. In this darkness, Jack could not place Pitch's voice to any corporeal form. Instead, it seemed to rumble lowly from all shadows at once.

"Oh, ha-ha," he said sarcastically, eyes darting around in search of something tangible.

Pitch chuckled. An argent hand unfurled from the shadows and coiled around the drawer.

In the next moment, Jack found both Pitch's hand and the tooth drawer gone.

While Jack's breath picked up – a mild yet decadent hint of nervousness – Pitch withdrew deeper into the shadows: the drawer he caressed with his long, thin fingers. Memories. Things he'd forgotten. For so long now, he'd thought of himself only as the Boogeyman, the Nightmare King, nothing more, nothing less. To him, there was nothing before that, and nothing after. In a world of petty human transience, he was the one wrathful immortal Pitch Black.

Considering this, Pitch spoke, "And what makes you think, Frost, that I even _want_ to remember?"

The winter spirit leaned against his shepherd's crook. "I guess every person deserves to know their past."

Pitch smirked. Jack had also forgotten his past. Learning it had given him renewed purpose. And he must have hoped the same for Pitch. The former Nightmare King didn't have any similar faith, but still…

He grazed a thumb absentmindedly over the gold lining of the drawer. For so long he'd never wondered. He'd never asked. For centuries, he'd known exactly who he was, without having to know his past. In that time, he'd experienced a fair share of self-loathing, but by now… he didn't particularly want to be anything else.

Fear was his center. What more could he want to know? And yet if he tried to remember, he couldn't even recall at what point he _became_ the Nightmare King. The further he investigated this within himself, the deeper his brow furrowed. What was the first memory he could recall? Where _did_ Pitch Black begin? He had simply always _been_.

"Pitch?" Jack said tentatively.

"I _am_ still here," Pitch drawled.

Excitement, "did you see your memories?"

"No, Frost. I hardly see the point of this exercise. Do you think I will suddenly change to support your _Guardians_ the moment I know my past? Perhaps instead I will find some means to defeat you all…" Twirling the drawer between his fingers, Pitch smirked and stepped closer to Jack. He let his voice speak from every shadow, "I was once much more powerful. Perhaps I will find out how I became so."

"Hey." Jack narrowed his eyes. "We'll always find a way to stop you. I'm trying to help you to – y,know, _not_ be the Nightmare King. There's gotta be something else for you."

Undeterred, Pitch continued, "Perhaps, it is as you suggested: I was not such a _pure_ soul. That my center is fear as a result of my wicked life on earth." Pitch grinned. "And this drawer will show me how I transformed from a petty human to the Nightmare King. I can only imagine what it might teach me. How I might become more powerful than your Guardians can handle."

The shadows coiling teasingly around Jack's ankles, slithered over his skin; the winter spirit shivered. It wasn't fear, not quite… But it was something close to it, and it was enough for Pitch to draw his confidence upon. Jack didn't know if what Pitch said could be true or not, and that uncertainty was enough. For if it was true, then what would the Guardians think? First, betraying them by leaving those tunnels in the Warren undefended at Easter. Then, freely giving Pitch the means to reclaim all his power.

"Oh, this will be fun," purred Pitch. Now, with another's doubt to feed upon, he vanquished his own. He pressed his hand to the emerald diamond on the tooth drawer.

The lair around him dissolved away. Out from his fingertips spilled scenes of unearthly grandeur: the night sky afire with black swarming shadows and sharp fulgurite flashes. Pitch saw it as if he himself were there, drifting amongst the stars. It was a battle; one waged between the flitting black figures with laughing faces, and the streaks of frantic golden-white light. Everything about it was familiar, and yet foreign… if only he could place this event in his memory…

Then, roiling on the waves of space, an enormous black galleon ship emerged. The captain, _Kozmotis Pitchiner_, rode at its helm: broad-shouldered, he wore elegant black and gold armor with distracted indifference. His entire being concentrated wholly upon the shadows contorting around him; his gold eyes were firm and indefatigable. But not only that. They were uncorrupted. Alight with celestial flame, certain of purpose, proud and noble, but above all things, _good_.

Pitch's heart darkened with hate. He knew. He knew this was himself, centuries in the past, at some time he no longer recalled. But Pitch loathed any creature of the light, and above all things he now loathed this past image.

The memory played on, careless of his hatred for it.

Fearlings had swarmed the galleon, and Kozmotis and his crew were fighting tooth and nail. In battle, a certain weariness could be seen weighing on the captain. Shadows under his eyes, heaviness in his movements, a deep sadness in his eyes. Shadows had long been his adversary, and he had long since tired of them. In his harried figure, Pitch could see a longing for rest, reprieve.

The scene changed.

A bedroom; still nighttime. The same wearied figure, shed of his armor and clothed in a gold-wreathed cloak, leaned over the bedside of a small raven-haired girl. All the tiredness from battle lingered; none of its ferocity did. The smile he bestowed upon her was one infinitely soft, infinitely gentle. She dreamt on peacefully, undisturbed.

"She's just as mischievous as you used to be," a stern, unseen voice said. "Wandered off again last night! Pretending to fight dream pirates, that girl…"

Kozmotis chuckled quietly and murmured, "She is her father's daughter."

There was too much affection in those words. Too much vulnerable love. Pitch was glad when the scene again shifted.

A prison, the color of lead, crammed with thousands upon thousands of shadows. At the locked door stood one single sentinel. This was a place far far away from anyone else; a place where truly only two entities existed – the sentinel, Kozmotis Pitchiner, and the shadows: the Nightmare Men, the Fearlings, the Nightmares.

These Nightmares whispered to him. Their words crawled into his ears, hissing, pleading, moaning; and it wasn't any brief torture, it wasn't any transitory event. Even as he watched, Pitch remembered. He had been trapped there as thoroughly as the prisoners he guarded – for after he'd trapped and corralled all the shadows together, he'd volunteered to watch them, forever. An eternity of that hissing and whispering, with no reprieve in which he might hear his daughter's voice again. No future to look forward to, in which he might hold her in his arms again.

In that dank emptiness, he despaired of any hope. And still, he persevered. While he endured their torture, the world was safe from it. While he suffered, the world could rejoice. This little flicker of knowledge kept him going, kept him sane. That, and the locket around his neck.

It was a silvery small thing, given to him by his daughter just before he left. She'd put a picture of herself in it. Kozmotis had never received a gift more treasured.

Day by day, week by week… month by month. Their voices wore at him tirelessly. When their chanting became too much, Kozmotis opened the locket and glimpsed the image of his daughter. By seeing her face again, even in a small, grainy photo, he was reminded of why he kept fighting.

It worked, for a time. But then the shadows snaked into his mind and read about this one strength of his. This one weakness…. And they were not above using it.

_"Daddy?"_

It was her voice. Emily Jane. The voice of his daughter, the voice that lifted his heart and –

_"Daddy? I'm trapped in here with these shadows, and I'm scared. Please open the door. Help me, daddy, please."_

Pitch watched the rest silently.

He watched calmly as his past self rushed, terror-stricken, to open the prison door. He watched calmly as a thousand shadows surged from the door and into his body. He watched calmly as his past self began to laugh, darkly, maniacally, full of twisted promise.

The memories faded away.

He was back in his lair, back with Jack Frost, back cozily surrounded by the shadows he'd so long taken to be his own.

Silence.

Long silence.

Tentatively, "Did you see your memories?"

"Yes," answered Pitch.

"What were they? What did you see?"

"Leave."

Jack laughed nervously. "C'mon, I just g-"

"_Leave me alone_!" Pitch screamed.

If Jack had been alert and cautious, he could have defended from the attack. But as it was, the mass of shadow slammed into his chest and sent him sprawling against the wall – or it would have been the wall, had he not fallen straight through it and been spat out –

Jack squinted. Spat outside. Painfully bright blue sky. "Oww.." he muttered, shielding his eyes. Pitch… had transported him through the shadows. Jack scowled. That was hardly fair. He went through all that work to collect the tooth drawer, and to give Pitch back his memories, only to be thrown out.

Jack sat up, prepared to head back to the lair and give Pitch a piece of his mind, when he was stopped dead by the six foot rabbit standing a mere foot away.

"Bunnyy," Jack let out an awkward laugh. "Funny seeing you here-"

"You and I are gonna talk, mate."


	6. Chapter 6

_"Bunnyy," Jack let out an awkward laugh. "Funny seeing you here-"_

_"You and I are gonna talk, mate."_

Bunny crossed his arms across his chest and lifted his chin to his full height. "So Tooth pays me a visit - can you believe what she tells me? That _you_ took Pitch's memories to him. You know what I thought? You caught wind of something bad and you showed up to stop Pitch on your own. I actually believed that, too. 'Til I turn up and look at you."

"There's an explanation-"

"Don't you realize who he _is_?" Bunny yelled, stalking closer. Before Jack knew it, Bunny had his paws clenched around Jack's collar. "Are you mad, mate? He tried to kill Sandy!"

"I'm not stupid-"

"North's gonna get a load of this, hah! Chumming up with the enemy, I don't believe it-"

Jack yanked himself out of Bunny's grip and backed up. "Would you _listen_ to me!? I'm not trying to be his friend. I wouldn't do this if I didn't have a good reason."

"Sympathy doesn't cut it for this guy! He's the _Boogeyman._ He belongs alone."

"But maybe he doesn't," Jack snapped back. "Maybe _no one_ belongs alone."

"Right," Bunny said thickly, turning his chin up, "and that's why Pitch kicked ya out of his lair, yeah?"

Jack cringed. "He's – he's…"

"Look," Bunny pointed his boomerang at Jack's face, "No Guardian is gonna hang around with the likes a' him. Either stick with us, or throw your lot in with him. You can't have both."

Jack spluttered. It wouldn't seriously come to that, would it? They would never just… abandon him for choosing to help Pitch… would they? "He doesn't want to be what he is," Jack finally settled upon. "He wants to change." Maybe. That was a big unresolved 'maybe', but Bunny didn't need to know that.

"He's Pitch, mate. He doesn't have a choice."

Those words constricted Jack's heart. Wasn't that the very same argument Pitch had used? That he was destined to be what he was, that he couldn't change it? Were Guardians and spirits truly not allowed to change their natures?

"Listen up," Bunny said, his eyes narrowing sternly. "It's us or him. Make your pick."

The hair on the back of Jack's neck stood up. Something searing hot – like the whitehot tip of a blade - trickled down his spine. The sound of shifting fabric behind him, then;

"Well, you two are having fun debating about me on my doorstep." A very sinister undertone lurked beneath the playful words. For all Pitch's coldness, Jack had not heard that undertone for a long, long time.

"How about you leave Jack alone? What's he to you?" snapped the Pooka, who tensed the moment Pitch appeared.

"A fix," Pitch murmured. Jack felt fingers caress the back of his neck. Bunnymund instantly took an alert, battle-ready stance, his boomerangs out and prepared.

"Stay out of this," Jack growled to Pitch, shrugging off his touch.

"Yeh, back off," Bunny seconded. "The others are on the way, but I'd be happy to deal with ya myself."

Pitch arched a brow. "The others? Aww, little Jack, they called in the babysitters for you."

Jack pinned his eyes on Bunny. "_You told the other Guardians_?"

"It's their concern, too."

"So – so what, everyone's coming in to fight Pitch? Yeah, cuz that's fair, he's so helpless and all," Jack said sarcastically.

"We're coming to pull you outta trouble."

"What?" Jack stepped back, inadvertently getting closer to Pitch. "What makes you think I need help?"

"So controlling, aren't they?" Pitch purred. "A spirit for three hundred years, and they think you can't take care of yourself…"

"Oh, maybe because you're trying to buddy up to Pitch!" Bunny retorted.

Jack seethed. "Really? You still think that? Well, who cares if I am! At least _he_ doesn't treat me like a little kid-"

"Maybe if you stopped acting like one-!"

"Ah, the reinforcements are here," Pitch said mildly.

Argument forgotten, Jack lifted his head and traced the sleigh approaching in the sky. Great. Any other day, he'd be thrilled to see the Guardians. But now? He really didn't need more people telling him how stupid he was when he had everything under control.

Pitch's fingers returned to the back of his neck; this time, Jack let him have the little tendril of fear he inspired. Honestly, whatever worked to keep Pitch calm so that the Guardians wouldn't declare an all-out battle.

The sleigh circled once overhead and then came crashing down with stamping, snorting Reindeer. It skidded to a stop; North leaped out, sabers at the ready, fire sparking in his eyes. Tooth fluttered behind him anxiously, and Sandy waved cheerily.

Jack frowned. "Seriously, guys?"

"I'm sorry, Jack," Tooth said, and sounded as though she deeply meant it, "after you left, I couldn't stop worrying, and… I'm really sorry; I know you mean well."

"Right to business." North pointed his sabers at Pitch and stomped closer. "You, what are you planning?"

"North," drawled Pitch. "Can't say I missed _you_."

"To steal fun from children? Hah! You will _never_ match us!"

Pitch quirked an eyebrow. "So presumptuous, North. All brawn and no brains, as usual."

"You lookin' for a fight?" Bunny butted in, cranking his arm back as if to throw his boomerang.

"Look, stop!" Jack slammed his staff into the ground – a wave of icy wind blasted against the assembled Guardians and sent each stumbling backward; excepting Sandy, who drifted casually back with a mildly surprised expression. "This is ridiculous! Pitch is in no shape to stand up to even one of us and –" Reeling, he stepped away from Pitch and pointed his staff at him, "and you stop doing that – that fear thing. Stop it!"

Pitch offered a dark smirk and lifted his hands up in a show of innocence.

"Jack…" Tooth said helplessly.

"No! Is this part of being a Guardian? Having every other Guardian always controlling what you do?"

"Keeping your sorry backside safe," muttered Bunny.

Sandy snagged North's sleeve; the two exchanged meaningful glances. With a sigh, North lowered his sabers. "We must trust Jack."

Bunny choked, "Is no one else remembering who this guy is?"

Sandy floated between Pitch, Jack, and the others. With a gentle smile on his face, countless golden images flashed above his head; Jack caught a sword, a star, a snowflake – but most spirited into nothingness before he could understand.

Whatever the intended message, Jack missed it entirely. Still, Sandy must have been arguing for his side, because Bunny made a low snort and turned his back. Tapping his foot twice, a bunny hole opened up and he disappeared into it.

Sandy then turned to Jack and placed a tiny hand on his shoulder. He offered a single encouraging nod, his golden eyes filled with reassurances.

"Thanks, Sandy," whispered Jack. He really, really hoped that he wasn't making a mistake.

As Sandy retreated, Jack reeled around and prodded Pitch with his staff. "Thought I said to stop the fear thing!"

Pitch didn't smirk this time; something dark was in his eyes. But he withdrew his fingers.

"Here is plan," North said, nodding convincingly, "We take Pitch to the Pole, and we discuss like true Guardians. Yes?"

"An interrogation, my favorite," Pitch uttered so lowly that only Jack caught the words. The dark undertone had entirely usurped any prior amusement in his voice. Then, with a rustle of fabric, he was gone.

No shadows, no dark laugh, no menacing anticipation in the air.

The Guardians blinked and swung their glances around the clearing. He did not reappear. There was only the dusting of snow upon the ground, and the trees quietly swaying around them. Seconds passed. He truly had left, and could now be anywhere across the globe – anywhere as long as it wasn't with the Guardians.

"Great," Jack spat. "All that for nothing."

"All the better!" North bellowed. "Now we find Bunny and tell him the problem is over."

"Yeah." Jack turned around glumly. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Wait, Jack!" Tooth fluttered forward and hovered at his side. Her amethyst eyes glittered with apologetic sorrow. Her hand rested on his shoulder. "We trust you, Jack. But we care about you too, and so we worry."

"I understand." Jack moved to brush off her hand, but she interjected quickly,

"His memories. Did he see them?"

Jack stilled. "Yes."

"Did he tell you what he saw?"

Jack looked away. "No. Not yet. Tooth…" he eyed the assembled Guardians, who were watching the exchange intently. Lowering his voice to a mere whisper, Jack continued, "There isn't any way that seeing his memories… I mean… he can't become more powerful this way, can he? Learn something he didn't know before?"

The answer was slow to come. Tooth seemed to carefully phrase her words before she spoke them. "Memories are only part of our past, Jack… But they're part of who we are. I think seeing them will change him, but I don't know how."

"Thanks, Tooth." Turning, Jack launched himself into the air; in a matter of seconds, he was soaring meters above the ground, closing his eyes and letting the wind card through his hair. Breath that he didn't need caught in his lungs. The worries of the clearing and of Pitch became minuscule up here.

They were not gone, though. And Jack hadn't given up.

When he felt ready, Jack descended down and landed hard beside the lake in Burghess. Sighing, he leaned against a tree trunk. "All right, Pitch."

Silence.

The weight of Pitch's presence; an ominous, disconcerting thing, was entirely… missing. The breeze was warm, gentle, the lake silent and rippling; still cold with the lingering touch of winter, despite the approach of spring.

"I'm here, Jack Frost, the only person trying to help you!" Jack said loudly, waving his hands around. "Hello? Didn't you want to talk?" Maybe he didn't. "Gonna explain what you saw in your lair?"

No response whatsoever.

"Err, terror and fear? Children's tears? Jeez, what does it take to catch your attention?"

Still nothing. Jack scowled. Great. This whole fiasco had been a complete waste of time. Maybe the Guardians were right. He should have minded his own –

A circle of shadows opened beneath him. Before Jack could finish his thought, black tendrils shot from the shadows and yanked him into darkness.


End file.
